The winter has passed and the air is warm. The Man, "Disco" they call him, has weathered the storm. He is now preparing for the incredible journey, the excellent adventure, the sweet ride. Once again he has led his men into the second season. His black counterpart failed to do so - a team now in turmoil.
Disco himself has dealt with adversity. His men suffered. He suffered. His city suffered. None of that matters. The second season begins anew. What was witnessed by onlookers for the past 6 months no longer applies. It's zero-zero. Disco stands, head down, resting his clenched-fists on his desk. His knuckes are bleeding from striking the wall behind him. "Trap." The word rolls through his mind like rockslide. He feels as if he's in a cage. With no escape. The walls are closing in on him as darkness overtakes the room. "What will it take?" he breathes, teeth clenched. The air in the room is escaping. Disco gasps for air, but the resounding force is overwhelming. Trap. Disco sits, preparing for an early exit. There IS no escape. He and his men cannot solve it. The end of the road draws near. An unattainable goal lies ahead, with no answer how to reach it. Disco's head hits the now blood-stained desk. With no chance why continue? Disco is prepared now for the inevitable early departure. His eyes slowly close as he slips into post-season hibernation....but then, as he lay there on his desk his eyes see something:
"We'll be just fine."
DO. THIS. SHIT.
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